To those of you unfamiliar with my hometown of Cottage Grove, MN, it goes a little something like this: it is about 30 miles from the outskirts of the Twin Cities and it has a Perkins. It has an Applebees. It has a Target. It has a Kohls. And it is, mind you, a Minnesota Star City. It's your typical run-of-the-mill suburb, other than the fact that yours truly is from there, which is something I know you all realize holds a lot of water.
So yesterday I figured heck, I'm in the Grove for now so's I may as well make the best of things. I called up my homey Pete who lives 'round these parts and expressed the fact that I'd like to explore a Saturday night entertainment alternative to either 1) pacing to and fro on the dirt road that lies before my parent's abode, or 2) driving 30 miles into the city, likely knocking back a few too many barley pops, and well.. you can see where that would go.
We ended up hooking up with former high school buddy Matt and one of his friends and quickly hightailing it down to the local roller rink-turned-dive bar called The Rush. The Rush's faculty contains a few of my high school peeps that have been working there since graduation day. That building is like a time capsule. You walk into the place and your watch stops moving, seriously. Pete got some nachos and I warned him that the cheese could very well be from the same batch as when I was 10 and rollerskated there. I was tempted to look under the pinball machines for colored rabbit feet keychains.
Every time I go there, the Rush's weathered ambiance has an effect on me not unlike the Dementors in the Harry Potter 3 film: when sucked into its mighty downtrodden wrath, it will feed off of and drain you of all and any pride you pack. A cover band was rocking out, led by a small hobbit woman that got wacky when they did a Kid Rock song - she put on a zany hat and strummed one of those bendy inflatable guitars you always see at the State Fair. She was pear shaped, and had on a nice pair o jeans from 1987 that were pulled up waaaay past her belly button. The bassist prowled the stage like a female Gene Simmons and I think it actually made me throw up in my mouth a little. Somebody mentioned that the band's energy matched that of our high school talent shows. Agreed!
We then headed to The Blue Moon, a local sports bar/restaurant which I was warned would be the "crash and burn" portion of the evening. "Bring it on!" says I, Ol Yeller needs to be shot at some point, and off we went. We arrived to a bevy of skanky hos.. I mean.. girls with a smattering of mullet men dancing on the same flo that by day is one of my dad's favorite Asian buffets. It was also once BONANZA, a place where I remember pounding down breaded shrimp by the dozens as a youngen. I saw Jenny, a girl who I used to work with at my first office job, and she was rather soused. It's hard to play the life update game when you're talking to somebody that's on the 7 second Gumby delay.
Last but not least today, lo and behold, Pete's sister, a.k.a. my longtime high school girlfriend Melissa (a.k.a. Pissy) stopped by for a surprise visit with her new son she made 4 years ago. She's yet another person I ain't seen for the better part of 10 years, and it twas fun and interesting to see her again. Seeing your ex's with their own chillens is very surreal - I heard lots of Twilight Zone music playing in my head. 'Cause she still looks and acts just like Pissy, but then you see her wipe spittle off of her kid's face and onto her jeans and realize Um... whoa, like.... weird, man... she's somebody's mom! I fed her kid a big ol' Hershey bar I happened to have stashed away and played him some Van Halen on the blue accordion. One thing I love about other people's kids: you can get 'em all cranked up on sugar and then give them back to their owners to deal with when they get all crabby and shit.
So, yes. It was an All American Heavy Metal Weekend. Good times were had by all, and gawd dammit, I'm tired.
